


Best of a Bad Situation

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M, Multi, Other, Species Swap, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 02:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11476545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: Krok's having a very bad day. Thank God for Spinister.





	Best of a Bad Situation

**Author's Note:**

> An old fic I posted eons ago but removed to edit and clean up. Krok's humanoid body is vague in details so you can use your imaginations. However, the body/humanoid alien race is larger/taller than humans, but beyond that relatively the same.

The humanoid waited with bated breath, eyes wide.

"Have you located the priest?" he asked finally.

Misfire smiled. "Eyup!"

The humanoid gave a loud, relieved sigh. He allowed himself a minute to relax, the tension leaving his shoulders. He looked up at Misfire staring down at him from the massive screen above. "We're not out of danger yet," he said, chewing his bottom lip. "Get back to the ship as fast as you can. His people will come looking for him soon."

"No problem," Misfire reassured, swishing a hand. "We're really good at runnin', aren't we, pinhead?" He elbowed Fulcrum in the side.

The humanoid went to say something but stopped. Looked directly at Fulcrum. "I can't help but notice you've been staring at me for the past five kliks," he said. "If you've something to say, say it."

Fulcrum blinked out of his daze. "Er, it's nothing," he muttered, averting his gaze. He frowned then gave a defeated sigh. "It's... No offense, but you're just... so..." He slowly bowed his head, ashamed. "... Ugly."

The humanoid furrowed his brows. "None taken," he said, though his tone was frosty, "and you're no prize yourself."

Fulcrum winced. "I-- I told you, no--"

"Just get back to the ship before the locals catch up to you," he ordered. Misfire was giggling at Fulcrum's expense before he cut the link. For a moment, the humanoid stared at the blank screen then sighed heavily. Ran a hand through his hair. "Unfragginbelievable..."

Not only was his body weak, but it was extremely sensitive. The ship was cold, though he knew its temperature was lukewarm and comfortable for his teammates. At first the interesting sensations and the goosebumps on his flesh were fascinating, but it got old fast. These two large mounds on his chest got in his way. He wrapped his arms back around himself and cursed; where the Hell was--

"S'all I could find."

Speak of the devil. Spinister returned, placing a large cloth on the ground before the humanoid. "Will it help?" he asked. "Or how does that... thing work?"

"It will help," the humanoid insisted. It better well help. He picked up the rag and wrapped it around him in a cloak. His bare feet were still cold on the steel floor, however. Nonetheless, he tried to remain focused. Though damn it was taking him so long to warm back up.

The humanoid cursed at the sudden poke in his back, sending him stumbling forward. "Stop that!" he snapped up at Spinister.

Spinister blinked, still holding out his finger. "But..." He hesitated a second then gave the humanoid another poke.

The humanoid grabbed his finger, the rag hanging from his shoulders. " _Stop. It,_ " he ordered firmly. His expression was fierce, restraining all the rage boiling inside his fleshy body.

Spinister felt it, though. He drew his finger back as soon as it was let go. The humanoid mumbled something, shuddered, pulled the rag back around him. Spinister watched the curvy creature for a whole minute before finally asking, "Did they find the scraplet who did this to you?"

The humanoid frowned and nodded. "They're bringing him back now," he said. An eyebrow twitched. "If the slagger could swap bodies once, he can do it again."

"When he puts you back in yer old body," Spinister said, "want me to crush him?"

The humanoid smirked. "Maybe. We'll see." He looked up at the Decepticon. "Apparently on this planet, he's a big deal. Their... shaman or whatever."

Spinister grunted. "Not a 'big deal' to me."

"He's both the reason I'm like this, but also my only hope of returning to my body," the humanoid said. "I believe he'll regret 'punishing' me when he's on the ship and under our complete mercy."

"What didja do to slag him off, anyway?"

The humanoid gave Spinister a hard look. "You... don't remember?"

"Nah. I jus' remember your old body fallin' and then your new body gettin' up and tellin' us you were Krok." Spinister shrugged. "Good thing ya told me somethin' no one else on the ship knew 'sides you an' I. Otherwise I was gonna pummel you into the ground." Which, in itself, had been remarkable--he was surprised he had immediately believed him.

The humanoid--Krok--pursed his lips. He wanted to tell Spinister _he_ had been the reason the shaman decided to swap Krok's 'spirit,' as he called it, with one of his recently dead tribesmen. It had been Spinister who shot and killed the shaman's wife when she gave him shit, but the old goat decided to punish Krok instead.

When Krok woke up in this new body--a woman, they called it--it took every part of his tactical mind to stop from flipping out and having a panic attack. He tried to reason with the alien magician, tried to keep Spinister from not only crushing Krok but the shaman as well. Not that he cared if the bastard or whatever died, but Krok had a feeling only he could undo this spell. But the shaman wouldn't listen and then there was some sort of explosion and the Scavengers had been forced to retreat for the time being. They had managed to get away with Krok's seemingly dead or catatonic body, thankfully.

Though Krok still did not understand why the shaman chose to punish him over Spinister. Or, Hell, why not Misfire, Fulcrum, or Crankcase? He was the leader, yes, but the aliens didn't know that.

Instead, Krok lied, "He just... felt like it." Sort of like Spinister shooting the shaman's nagging wife.

Spinister grumbled. "I'll turn 'im into sludge."

"You do that," Krok said, raising a finger, " _after_ he puts me back in my real body."

"Fine," Spinister whined. He slowly squatted before the humanoid alien. Though smaller than Spinister and the other Decepticons, Krok was certainly not tiny. About half their size, give or take. "What does it feel like, huh? Bein' in that body?"

Krok blinked. He opened his rag-cloak and looked over the nude body. "... Weak. Helpless. Disgusting. _Wet_." He touched the cut across his belly; while fleeing with the others, Krok had tripped over a rotten log into a bed of rocks. "This body is so fragile. So easy to break. I was barely cut, and yet I..." 

Krok remembered standing and drawing his hand from the wound, staring in awe and horror at the red liquid on his fingers; he almost forgot they were running and would have stood there staring longer if Spinister hadn't picked him up and carried him off. Krok had been slowing them down, unable to keep up. "But you almost broke something," Krok growled. Spinister had squeezed a little too hard when he scooped Krok up, and now his side ached. The flimsy skin was also a little red and... a shade of pale blue?

"Do your wounds hurt?" Spinister asked.

Krok shook his head. "Only if I push on them," he said, regarding both the cut on his stomach and the bruise on his side. "Other than that, this body is just..." he sighed. "Pathetic. No wonder these aliens are so primitive. They're both stupid _and_ weak."

"Before we leave," Spinister said, optics cheerful red, "we can bomb their entire village, yeah?"

Krok remained quiet. "... I'll think about it."

Spinister placed his hands to the ground; Krok blinked, jumping with surprise when suddenly his face was almost flush against his torso. "What are you doing?" he demanded, but kept his hands to himself.

The Scavenger narrowed his optics. Tilted his helm. "... You smell."

Krok gave him a deadpan look. "I'm aware of that, trust me."

"You smell, but you don't stink."

That... What? Then Spinister's face _was_ pressing against Krok, and he accidentally dropped the rag. "It's weird... but I like it," Spinister chuckled.

Krok was about to push him away (as futile as that would be), but... "You're actually... really warm." He placed his hands on the maskplate, the metal hot. Spinister made a low humming noise as he gently nudged his face against the fleshy body. It felt a little... weird, but... Well, Spinister _was_ warm... "You can stay here, but just a klik, okay?"

Spinister's large optics widened. "So I can touch you some more?" he asked, and if only Krok could read his field, it was full of such excitement.

Krok didn't know what to say. "... Yes," he said, before adding sternly, "but _gently_. This body can only take so much pressure."

Spinister purred. "I'll be gentle." He gave Krok's alien body another nuzzle with his entire face before drawing back. He stood there, still a little apprehensive; he placed one finger on Krok's shoulder, trailing it down an arm, then back up. Slowly down his back. Despite the warmth, Krok felt a chill shoot up his spine. Spinister's finger traced across his throat and collarbone, down between his breasts, pausing to pet his hips.

It all felt... quite lovely, actually.

"You're so soft," Spinister mumbled. He stroked a leg, pat a foot, then proceeded to the next leg. Moved back around to graze over his backside. Krok wiggled, receiving a laugh.

"Didn't look like it hurt."

"N-No..." Krok murmured. "Just... Odd."

"Odd," Spinister echoed. He gently took a few locks of hair between thumb and finger, giving it a tug. Quickly let it go when Krok growled and swatted his hand.

"Don't do that!" Krok snapped. "It's attached to my body!" He touched his head, rubbing the sore scalp. "The material itself has no nerves, but its roots..."

Spinister's optics dimmed slightly. "Sorry." He shifted a little, much like a guilty child. "Does this mean I have to stop touching you? 'Cause I still want to..."

Krok stared up at the embarrassed, apologetic Scavenger. He frowned, the anger quickly turning back to mild irritation. Mostly just with the entire situation, not Spinister. "It's fine," he said, dropping his hand. "Just remember what I told you: be careful!"

Spinister's optics immediately lit back up. "Careful! Right! Careful!" He nodded once. Without another word or moment's hesitation, he placed a finger to the humanoid's chest, sweeping it over both his breasts.

The response... was... interesting.

Krok swallowed, jumping. His cheeks suddenly felt hot and there was a strange little tingle in his belly. "That was-- what did you do?" he demanded.

Spinister blinked. "Nothin'?" Once again, he stroked both his breasts, along his nipples, and once again, Krok jumped. "Just this. Does it hurt?" He leaned forward. "Your face is changin' colors."

Krok touched his warm cheeks. Looked at his breasts and those stiff little... nodules. "M-Maybe just... Just leave... those alone, okay?" he gulped.

Spinister didn't get it, but okay. He shrugged. "But what about here?" he asked. He slipped his finger between Krok's legs, lifted up and gave a nice, heavy stroke. Hadn't heard his gasp or felt how stiff he was around his digit all the sudden, because there was... Spinister narrowed an optic, leaning forward again. "Something... soft? And wet?" He continued prodding and rubbing and then--

"I-It--!" Krok fell forward on the finger, knees suddenly weak.

Spinister stopped. "That hurts, too?"

"N-No, no," Krok breathed. Quite, uh, quite the opposite. He fluttered his long eyelashes, breathing heavily. "It's... weird, but it's not... nnnot bad." Spinister was about to tell him his face was turning colors again before he looked up, bashful and embarrassed, and asked, "Could you... c-could you keep... doing that?"

"... Keep going?" Spinister asked, confused and surprised. Krok nodded, very weakly. Well, Spinister wasn't one to disappoint, and though he had _no_ idea what was going on, he did as his leader commanded.

Krok groaned, and it was an obscene noise. Spinister was surprised he could even make those. It was so very familiar, too, and with it brought a familiar rush up his backstrut. His finger moved in heavy, gentle strokes; each new mewl or tiny, appreciative noise from Krok made his engines rev and vents cycle air through his chassis with loud buzzing croons.

Fulcrum might have thought Krok was ugly, but Spinister thought he was rather... pretty. In an exotic way. Sure, not his type by any means, but the body _was_ fascinating. Krok's basic structure was much like theirs in its humanoid design. Though he lacked the proper armor and plating, and instead had that strange wavy soft stuff coming from his head. Come to think of it, there was some of this hair on other parts of his body. Same color, same texture, but short, right near where Spinister was rubbing.

"You're leaking more," Spinister noted, his finger slowing, "did you spring a leak?"

"N-no, no no no," Krok heaved, and rut against that finger without even realizing it. "It's fine i-it's fine. Just keep, just keep--" he groaned, biting a corner of his bottom lip. "K-Keep going, please."

Spinister hesitated. His finger went back to its regular pace, and Krok groaned again. The Scavenger's spark skipped a pulse. "It... It sounds like it feels really... _really_ good..." he muttered.

Krok squeezed his eyes shut. "It... I think it's... I think I found t-the alien... ero... erogenous zone..." he breathed as he practically laid against his digit, riding into it. "It's... S-So _sensitive_." Krok gave one more rut before cursing, sitting back. "It... It's not..." he trailed off, unable to continue.

Spinister narrowed an optic. "'It... It's not' what?"

Krok stared up at the Decepticon, looked away. "... Not... Not enough," he mumbled, barely audible.

Spinister leaned in closer. "What? Didn't catch that."

"It's... It's not enough," Krok repeated, still unable to meet Spinister's gaze.

Spinister blinked, and slowly tilted his head. "... Oh," he said, optics widening and brightening. They then creased into something playfully menacing. " _Ooooh_." A beat. "So you wanna take a ride then?"

Krok grit his teeth, even more embarrassed.

"Hey, hey, your face is doin' that weird color changin' thing again!" Spinister said, poking one of his bright pink cheeks.

Krok shoved his finger aside. "I know!"

"You don't need to be ashamed," Spinister said, paused, "but it's kinda cute when you are."

Krok snapped his head up, brows knitted, face furious and tight-lipped. "It's not _cute_! It's _embarrassing_!" He angrily folded his arms over his bare chest. "This-- I shouldn't be thinking about inter... interfacing! Not at a time like this!" Krok slapped a hand to his forehead, grinding his teeth. "This stupid body, it--it has a weird effect on me, I can't--"

Suddenly, a giant finger was poking him in the cheek again. Hard enough to push him into a short stumble. "Shh, shh," Spinister said, "calm your tiny gooey drippy body. It's not so bad, yeah? Besides, I don't think you're _that_ ugly."

Krok huffed.

"An'... Well, once in a lifetime sort of thing, right? So... Why not?" He slipped his finger under Krok's chin, tilting his head back to meet his eyes finally. His face was as red as a ripe tomato. "'Sides, if it's with you, I don't mind doing it."

Krok's look of shame and annoyance instantly disappeared, replaced with something touched, even a little awed. Spinister was doing the smiley-eyed thing again and he quickly cleared his throat hard and loud, gagged at the slight pain. Krok composed himself, appearing calm and relaxed, despite being completely worked up and still tingling.

"... Well," Krok said, finally, brushing hair from his eyes, "if you are will--" He gasped when Spinister suddenly picked him up by the waist, sat back on his rear with a childish plop. All at once, his unit protracted, and Krok frowned. "Right. ... Give me a minute to calculate some things." He pat Spinister's hand. "Put me down."

Spinister didn't know what he meant--unit goes in channel and he had figured out that _that_ was a channel of some sort, what was there to 'calculate'?--but did as ordered.

Krok stood before the Scavenger's unit, hands on his hips. He tilted his head, paced back and forth; reached out and touched the base, running his hands down its length. Spinister shivered but kept quiet. Krok continued examining the unit, studying, touching every plate, every inch, pausing every few seconds to step back, think, then resume work.

Now Spinister was getting a little flustered. "Um... Y-You done with your calculations?"

Krok raised a finger to him, his intense gaze still on the head of the unit. No, shush, not yet. Spinister exvented-- and then gasped when Krok abruptly grabbed at the head; enough pressure, enough sensitivity, to produce a small bead of transfluid. Krok swept the droplet off, rubbed it in his hands, looked between his legs... He turned his attention to Spinister, whose left optic was twitching.

"It will be a tight fit, but... With the proper lubrication, and... currently dilated as such..." Krok trailed off, still eyeing the transfluid on his hands.

Spinister chuffed. "Yeah yeah, okay, yeah, can we frag _now_?"

Krok scowled. "I told you. I need proper lubrication. Given the moisture and sensitivity of this body, such preparations are required," he explained, whipping up a finger. He looked so sage and wise, as if he were giving a lecture. And not currently stuck in the body of a naked female humanoid standing before a giant robot dick. "I've discovered this body is immune to energon, so there should be no ill effects if I were to -- _ahem_ \-- _consume_ any. So, if we were to use a small portion of energon, we--"

Krok jumped, falling on his rear with a squeak when Spinister clambered to his feet. Stomped across the room. Produced a small cube of energon. Sat back down, knocking Krok over again as he stood; slammed down the cube. Shoved it toward him. Krok peered out from messy hair hanging over his face, looked between the cube and Spinister's very eager, very impatient glare.

Krok smoothed back his bangs. "Well," he said, blowing away a stray lock dangling between his eyes, "let's get to it, then."

Spinister was all sunshine and puppies again. Krok went to apply energon to the unit, but Spinister was quick to do so himself. Messily and sloppily, splashing Krok with some of the fluid in the process. Well, didn't matter in the end. Just to be safe, Krok dipped a hand in the glowing purple liquid, carefully pressed into between his legs and-- Oh, man, this body was _really_ fucking sensitive.

Krok took a deep breath. "Ready?" he asked.

"Duh."

Spinister picked him up by the waist, placing Krok in position above his unit.

They locked gazes, and it was a tense two seconds.

With a nod, Spinister carefully lowered Krok. Krok winced as he moved down, just barely along the tip. "W-Wait," he said, stopping Spinister, "I... W-Wait."

Spinister was close to exploding, but dammit, he was obedient. Krok took a few deep breaths, adjusting. "We... Take it slow, just for now," he said.

The process had been a bit awkward, and a little nerve-racking. Krok adjusted to taking in just the tip, another inch each time he slid down. It was still somewhat painful, but soon his body began to relax and open, the pleasure dominating the pain. He lifted up again, swallowed dryly. "I... Okay," Krok said, determined, "let's do this."

And then Spinister was stretching back, Krok braced against his frame. Spinister's hands remained loose around his smaller partner as he started riding. The rhythms were shallow, just like before, but when the pace picked up--

Spinister groaned alongside Krok when he suddenly took him damn near the hilt. He was tight, but so... so soft.

"I--Is it... is it good?" Krok panted, rising slowly off his unit. Never quite off; he paused a second at the head before sinking down again. He hadn't noticed the blood, mixing and disappearing in the thick energon. Fortunately, it hadn't been very much, and the pain subsided fast.

Spinister wasn't very eloquent with words, and even less when interfacing. His response was a low moan that sent vibrations through his chassis. They poured through Krok and he whimpered, pausing half-way down the length of the unit. Well, there it was, then--no more holding back.

Biting his bottom lip, Krok thrust down, hard, and the body beneath him gave a little jerk. Hands closed behind him, holding. Krok rose up, slammed down again, over and over and over. Each moan and whimper and mewl from Spinister filling his body with amazing sensations. He grinned weakly, ignoring the sweat beading down his face, bangs clinging to his moist forehead. And, okay, that time the noise Spinister made caused him to giggle.

Apprehension, caution? All gone. Suddenly, it didn't matter. Krok was overwhelmed with this alien, and yet still so familiar heat. He could barely think, and he didn't want to. All he knew right now, and all he cared about right now, was this amazing unit he was fucking himself on. It was... Well, it was more than just an experience. It was Goddamn life changing.

And it was pretty goshdarn amazing for Spinister, too.

Spinister scrambled back, keeping a hand on Krok, balanced, until he sat against the wall. He curled forward, minding his weight, even though his mind was fogged and suffocated with steam. He pulled Krok to his chest, stroking his back. 

Krok curled his fingers along his frame, peeling away small grooves of dark paint. He slumped forward, grinding down with a gasp; he pressed his damp cheek against Spinister's chest, ignoring the nearly burning heat. Too busy wiggling down on the unit to really give a damn, anyway.

Then, like that, everything clicked into place. It felt suddenly so very natural. Krok moved fluidly now, up and down, taking Spinister's whole unit in his body with complete ease. It went on like this for some time, neither thinking, only feeling. Just enjoying this very rare, once in a lifetime opportunity.

Krok panted, his chest heaving, breasts rubbing against Spinister-- Oh, come now, it wasn't like he wasn't immensely aroused enough. Well, he wasn't going to complain. Tension began to rise, and he knew all too well what that meant. Krok's hands scrambled at the Decepticon's plating, forehead pushing hard against the metal. He thrust down, harder, _harder_ , and he knew he was going past his limit, but didn't care. He was almost there; it would be fine. Krok hadn't even noticed he was squeezing one breast in his hand, milking out more pleasure; pinched his nipple, gasping each time.

His teeth clenched hard enough to nearly shatter, eyes squeezed shut until they stung and he saw a universe of stars--

Krok flinched, slowing down at the finger lightly stroking his cheek.

Spinister leaned forward, purred hoarsely against the top of his head, "Relax."

Krok blinked, eyes glossy. He looked up at Spinister. Right... Right, slow down. He swallowed, throat dry and clenching. Nodding, he relaxed again.

It didn't last much longer before that sudden rush struck him. Krok held onto the hand around his smaller body; he cried as he climaxed, and it was--it was _fucking_ amazing. He experienced overload before, of course, but with this body-- When he finished, still clenched and quivering around the unit, his entire body went lax and weak. He sunk forward, boneless, panting; tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, lips wet.

_God bless._

Spinister hummed and Krok wiggled again. He looked up, frowning. "It-- Wait, wait." He knew his limitations, and now that his head was... semi-screwed on right again, he quickly, and as carefully as possible, dismounted. As he stood, his knees locked, and he fell back into Spinister's hand.

Krok's body felt... weirdly empty and strange, but no, stay focused. Krok sat forward in the Decepticon's trembling hand, closing his shaky arms around the unit. He pressed and ground his entire body against its underside, between his breasts, fingers stroking and pawing.

Cybertronians seemed to have more stamina than these aliens. Go figure. He continued rutting against Spinister's unit nonetheless, tired as he was, drawing Spinister closer and closer to overload. He experimentally pressed his tongue to the head, moving it up to lick the edge of the slit. Spinister groaned--oh, so it worked!--and curled forward again, fingers closing a little tighter around Krok's body.

Krok repeated the process. Dragged his tongue up the length of the slit, back down. Spinister was becoming almost unbearably hot now, and he wasn't quite sure he could keep this up much longer. Still, even as his skin ached with the slow burn, Krok was determined to see Spinister through this.

Because, dammit, that was the courteous and right thing to do.

One last thing to try. Getting in position, Krok clamped hands firmly down on his breasts, squishing them around Spinister's unit. He started pumping again, and though it was a cheap imitation of a channel, it would be enough. He groaned, chewing his lip as Spinister's unit continued thrusting up between his breasts. And just like before, he rubbed his palms in circles against his nipples. Shit-- He was getting aroused again but still fatigued; shit shit shit--

Spinister's low, primal growl was Krok's only warning. He sunk back, bowing his head; a second later, he was coated in thick, brightly colored transfluid. Krok laid there, blinking, feeling very... awkward. Spinister calmed and slumped, fans blasting, coolant lowering his core temperature.

They took a moment to breathe.

Spinister's dim, half-lidded optics brightened a little. Krok sat up, brushing some of the sticky fluid from his face and hair. Then, Krok... smiled. Chuckled. And soon Spinister was chuckling with him, until both of them were softly, tiredly laughing.

"What a mess," Krok giggled, shaking transfluid from his arm.

Spinister just purred and pulled his partner over. He nuzzled his cheek against his chest, hardly caring about the mess. Krok smiled crookedly, pressed a kiss to Spinister's chevron.

Okay, so... Maybe the day hadn't gone _all_ to Hell. Maybe, like every cloud, there was a silver lin--

"HohohoHA!"

Krok whipped his head back, felt a muscle practically pull in his neck. Misfire, Fulcrum, and Crankcase stood in the doorway. Misfire was beaming antenna to antenna, Fulcrum's hands over his mouth, looking at the two in utter horror and disgust, and Crankcase's frown just twitched as he turned and quietly left. Misfire held the bound and unconscious shaman in both hands.

After an awkward moment of silence, Krok's face hardened. Spinister peeked out from cuddling his face against Krok's chest, one tired optic darkening at their stunned and amused teammates. " _Leave_ ," both Krok and Spinister said in perfect unison; Krok's commanding, Spinister's threatening.

Misfire whistled, he and Fulcrum taking two steps back. Fulcrum quickly shot out a hand, hit a button, then went back to covering his mouth. The doors slid closed on their comical expressions.

\---

An hour later, and Krok was back in his real body, sitting on the edge of a medical slab. Spinister was running a full diagnostic body scan, making sure everything was in proper working condition. So far, so good, but through the entire ten minute examination, neither had spoken a single word. Just before they took off, Crankcase jettisoned the shaman and the now lifeless corpse of the woman into space.

"... That was weird."

Krok was first to break the silence. Spinister stopped examining his knee actuators, looked up. Krok had to turn away, red optics dim. "Sorry," he said, "if... Well, if I made you uncomfortable."

Spinister blinked. "... I was hopin' we'd have a second round, to be honest," he replied.

Krok looked back, eyes wide. He cleared his vocalizer and idly scratched at his maskplate. "... Well, we can have an encore performance, just... Might not be as excit--"

Krok jumped when Spinister suddenly slapped hands on his face, squishing his cheeks and pulling him closer. He bumped forehead to forehead with his commander. "I think you're cuter like this," he crooned.

A moment later, and Krok huffed. "I was worried you were developing a fetish."

"... Hmm."

"... Let's just stop talking."

"Right-o!"


End file.
